scruffy Pekingese pattering underfoot, likely to trip him at any minute.
Kaley had gone to Durango, Whitey had told him when he’d asked.
Four days home and she was flitting off to the city already. It figured. What didn’t figure was why he’d been so…damn…angry ever since he’d learned of her divorce. Waste. What a crying waste! were the words echoing somewhere at the back of his mind. He’d always despised a waste of anything—time, effort, emotion.
But what, precisely, was wasted here? he wondered as his truck climbed out of the plains toward Trueheart.
Well, his time, for one thing; that was sure. After he’d spoken with Whitelaw, he’d driven to Durango. Told himself that he needed those tractor parts and shouldn’t put it off another day. But the John Deere dealer hadn’t stocked the crucial bearing, would have to order it special, so that errand had been entirely a loss. And he hadn’t caught even a glimpse of Kaley, though on his way out of town he’d swung through the parking lots of two of the larger grocery stores, where most Truehearters did their serious provisioning. The whole damn day just a waste of time.
The way his dreams lay in waste. Maybe it was just starting to hit him that the purchase had fallen through. That he’d sold Loner for nothing. Wasn’t that reason enough for a mood like a black wolf padding at his heels?
To the west, the setting sun reappeared, dropping into the slot between storm clouds and horizon. A red-orange light swept across the hills, bathing the land in ruddy gold, branding the undersides of the purple clouds with rose and ruby. Tripp sucked in a breath of sage-scented air. This—it was moments like this that made the struggle to hold the land, his way of life, worth whatever it cost. Till the sun puddled and sank below the horizon, Tripp simply drove and drank in the changing colors.
Finally, he gave a sigh that seemed to let something go, and reached for the headlight knob. Don’t give up, he told himself for the hundredth time over the past few days. This was a setback, but it wasn’t defeat—not by a long shot, it wasn’t.
Because there was no way Kaley could make a go of her ranch. All he had to do was make her see that.
The headlights of an approaching car gleamed like animal eyes in the dusk. Its windshield wipers were still switched on, he noticed as it shot past. It was raining somewhere up toward Trueheart, then. Good, they could always use rain. The longer the grass grew in the fall, the more graze there’d be for his herd in the first half of the winter. If he could put off feeding hay till after Christmas, he could keep his costs down, future profits up. Which was one more reason he needed the Cotter land. Kaley had acres and acres of irrigable meadows along her creek. If he could grow all he needed…was no longer at the mercy of the market price for good hay…
His truck mounted the first of the foothills. The road ahead gleamed black and shiny, though the shower that had drenched it had passed on already. He crested another rise and now Tripp saw taillights. Possibly Kaley returning from town? His foot came down hard on the gas.
But no, he realized when he’d closed the distance. This was one of those big sport utility vehicles. He recognized it as the one Rafe Montana had bought for his new wife, Dana, and her babies, when he made out its license plate: RbnRvr—the Ribbon River Dude Ranch, Dana’s ranch to the west of town. Tripp smiled and eased off the gas—just as the brake lights ahead flared and stayed on.
What the—? He stomped on his own brakes and swore—then groaned as the sport ute wobbled into a skid on the rain-slick asphalt. “Easy!” For a moment he thought the driver had the trouble in hand, but then she overcorrected. The sport ute’s right wheels dropped off the jagged edge of the pavement, slowed as they hit the gravel and low brush beyond—and the car swerved hard to the right and plunged off the road, bouncing and bounding into a pasture.
“Stay upright, stay upright!” Tripp prayed as he braked. And miraculously the vehicle did, coming at last to a jouncing halt sixty feet off the highway.
After parking on the shoulder, Tripp leaped out and ran. Off to the south he saw another car coming and he begged it silently to stop. He could send its driver into Trueheart for help, if need be.
“Dana!” He swung open her door and flinched at the noise—two babies wailing their lungs out. “You okay?” She was twisted around to her right, peering into the back seat as she yanked frantically at her seat belt buckle. “Dana.” He patted her shoulder, even as his eyes were drawn irresistibly to the windshield.
It wasn’t cracked. Seemed that it ought to be cracked. His heart was thundering, the sound of the babies drilling straight through his brain. Tears and glass and a wreck in the rain. And nothing had ever been the same after. He wrenched his mind back to the present, where, thank God, no glass had been shattered. “Dana, honey, hey…”
Blinded by tears, she whirled around and clutched his shirt. “G-g-get me out of this! Please! Oh, sweetheart, hang on. Mommy’s coming!”
He doubted she even knew who he was. “Easy there, eaaasy…” He reached over her lap to unclip the seat belt. Not jammed at all. She was just in a tizzy. And maybe stunned, he realized, noting the disinflated air bag drooping from the steering wheel. That must have blown up in her face. Rafe is going to thank his lucky stars he replaced her old pickup. “Easy there,” Tripp soothed, helping her down out of the high seat, then holding her up as her knees buckled.
“How can I help?” asked a quiet voice at his elbow. He glanced aside to find Kaley standing there, her fine eyes wide with sympathy. So that had been her in the car behind them.
“Petra and Peter, please, somebody look at them!” Dana begged, trying to twist out of his grasp.
“Of course.” Kaley hurried around to the far side of the vehicle and leaned in from there, while Tripp opened the near door for Dana and lifted her in.
Strapped into car seats, both her babies were squalling wholeheartedly. Beneath the racket, the women’s crooning ran like a wordless melody, a song no man could sing. Peering past Dana’s shoulder, Tripp saw Petra—with blood dripping down her chin. His stomach lurched.
A woman weeping…the smell of blood…it wasn’t the pain of the glass in his face so much as the terrifying blindness, blood welling into his eyes… He staggered back from the open door and turned to lean against the car’s side, his stomach heaving. Scrubbing the back of his hand across his cheekbone, he closed his eyes—saw his mother’s tear-drenched face—and opened them wide again. Shook his head to clear the vision. That was then…this is now. He sucked in a breath and held it, blew it out, sucked in another and squared his shoulders. Forced himself back to the door. “How are they?”
“Just fine, I think,” Kaley almost sang with happy relief. “Shaken up a bit, but everybody looks just fine.”
“Petra’s bleeding,” he protested.
“Bit her lip,” Kaley agreed, but her smile reassured him.
“Mommy’s crying!” Petra announced to the world with a tearful grimace.
Dana let out a sobbing laugh and continued wiping the tail of her shirt across her daughter’s chin. “She is, sweetie. Yes, she is.” One hand cradling her toddler’s face, she leaned to study the baby Kaley was comforting. “You’re sure Peter’s all right?”
“His neck seems fine. He’s very alert. Truly just startled, I think.” Kaley smoothed the baby’s red-gold hair, reached for one of his waving hands and held it, her thumb stroking
